


Wait Another Day

by OrangeBlossoms



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Sully/Sumia, F/F, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeBlossoms/pseuds/OrangeBlossoms
Summary: Maribelle struggles to trust in others. Lissa grapples with having faith in herself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, sorry. Reposting this to fix some things!

Peacetime isn’t as restful as she had initially assumed. There are glimpses of normalcy where they have a moment to come up for air before reality submerges them again in all that is unfamiliar and everything that was lost. She is privy to the lives of those who are most deeply affected and observes where the seams are frayed after the last war with Plegia. 

The Exalt lacks formality and thus far that has extended to the social gatherings that she had grown up anticipating she would one day attend. The halidom is in mourning, however, and while there are events, they aren’t the lavish kinds of affairs where jewels and colorful gowns are to be flaunted. This doesn’t stop many from finding subtler ways to signal their importance and it rankles in ways it might not have before. Instead of giving into temptations to crusade against every perceived transgression, she learns to let go and focuses on using her energy for mending. There are more important concerns than garish sycophants. 

She has passing fancies of dress fittings with Lissa. Thoughts of instructing her on the steps for proper Ylissean dances result in sighing over the impossibility. They have both missed the past several ball seasons. In the end, such idle hopes are merely daydreams that distract her during extended study sessions.

Maribelle has spent most of her time in Ylisstol in the interim, unwilling to leave as the halidom transitions. Her family’s loyalty is bone-deep and goes back generations, but her own dedication is considerably more personal.

The halidom still shudders under the amassed burdens from generations of war. And how easy it is to sometimes forget undead yet stalk the forests and fields of Ylisse. Bandits lurk at borders and crossroads, making travel perilous. 

They are tucked away behind fortified walls and the issue has gone from daily preoccupation to occasional night terror over time. Not that she would ever admit to anything of the sort outside of murmured reassurances. With a tender look, she whispers to Lissa that only those with unfeeling hearts would remain unaffected by what she’s witnessed and prays to all that is good in the world that her words offer some small aid.

When she receives missives from Themis, she is relieved with each letter’s confirmation that they are well and that the region is stable after its own series of raids. In what seems a lifetime ago, she had acted on the reckless notion to interfere with one such attack. The Shepherds haven’t been completely disbanded even if the army isn’t at its full potential, their allies having returned to Ferox and others to their homes across Ylisse. The assistance the capital can provide does not meet the demand.

Their commander is absorbed in his new roles as Exalt and husband. There are few moments that he can truly enjoy the latter among a burgeoning list of responsibilities, but she’s warmed to hear Lissa speak fondly about her brother and the scraps of time afforded for domestic bliss. Mostly she talks about how she teases him and his spouse alike, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Maribelle chides her over it, but truthfully, she is charmed all the same.

They still make time for tea even if the water grows tepid some days. A shoulder to cry on is little recompense for all the kindness she wishes she could repay. There is nothing she wouldn’t be willing to offer and she contemplates how to best support her friend who arrived at her quarters early in the morning with a tear-stained face and arms wrapped around herself. Maribelle insists that Lissa should have called for her in a way that has nearly become routine, but she ushers her through the door without further preamble, a hand on her shoulder for guidance. As the door clicks shut, she pulls her into an embrace, her cheek resting on messy blonde locks.

“Oh, dearest,” she murmurs as Lissa cries into her shoulder.

There’s a chill in the air and a dense blanket of clouds that hover low over Ylisstol, promising snow. Once Lissa calms, she wraps a spare cloak around her shoulders, a handkerchief appearing after a deft flick of a hand.

“Thanks, Maribelle,” Lissa says with a sniffle, taking the offering and bringing it to her nose. 

The sound that follows is far from delicate and while she can’t avoid a downward twitch of her lips, she doesn’t have it in her to critique. Not when Lissa is experiencing a low point. At the very least, Lissa no longer couches every perceived burdensome action in apologies and self-deprecating remarks. Maribelle considers it progress. The weight of the loss of the former Exalt and an entire squadron of Pegasus Knights are still endured many months later. The blow has only recently been softened by the announcement of the eventual arrival of an heir. 

On good days, they can talk about her brother or who to avoid in the often treacherous Ylissean Court; Lissa has never been one for propriety and serving with the Shepherds isn’t enough to suddenly endear Maribelle with former foes. The tenor has changed since they were younger as everyone has since learned how to cover up poison with lace. 

There are noticeable shifts in the capital, however, based on foundations set by the former Exalt. Allied families like her own from the nobility comprise only some of the Ylissean army’s highest ranks and the freshly crowned Exalt’s inner circle. The rest is made up of a disparate assortment that includes farmers, thieves and shapeshifters. She might have been offended by the thought at one time and is embarrassed at the realization. After all, their tactician who has led them to victory time and again was once a destitute amnesiac the Exalt had found in a field. 

Lissa making use of the handkerchief again is enough to startle her from her thoughts. She takes a seat on an embroidered chair, careful not to wrinkle the skirt of her dress. Lissa leans into her as soon as she’s settled. They will sit for as long as it takes to set things right again. Maribelle understands the cues for both prompting discussion and remaining in silence. A hand makes its way to her own and she’s always willing to reciprocate. Too willing, if she’s being honest.

The way Lissa casually grabs her arm, flops on her lap or falls asleep on her shoulder are a myriad of reminders that she enjoys the contact, relishes it even. She often accepts without comment, brushing her fingers through Lissa’s hair as she holds her close. When her face grows florid over the familiarity, she neatly boxes up those thoughts and stores them away to be unpacked at a later time. Later never quite arrives. 

Sometimes Lissa questions her during a careless moment and she admits to feeling under the weather. Out of sorts might be more accurate. Lissa then chastises her for staying up so late to study and she pretends she has absolutely no idea what she means before elegantly directing the conversation to other affairs. 

_Do you like the tea, darling? It’s a special blend I made myself._

Or back to Chrom who had at one point unintentionally motivated members of Court to wear single-sleeved shirts. It fell out of favor in the span of a season. 

_Can you believe your brother has inspired some of the latest fashions? If only people knew… or had enough sense to know_ better _!_

There are plenty of distractions to choose from. Lissa listens and laughs at just the right times as if she believes Maribelle really is every bit as clever as she claims. If it draws her in further, who could blame her? 

There comes a time when they all return to the battlefield. She begins to wonder if maybe her feelings aren’t so solitary. The wishful spark that follows after that realization isn’t so easy to snuff out. She pays even closer attention when Lissa joins her and her dusty manuscripts in the evening hours when she could be sleeping or spending time exchanging stories by the campfires. 

There are certain turns of phrase that Lissa says to her, eyes bright as she nearly skips across the distance to her side after they’ve been apart. It’s a dangerous thing to hope, but it’s impossible to quell the internal fluttering that plagues her in a curiously pleasant way. It’s all she can do to prevent herself from saying anything too foolishly revealing in response. 

_But perhaps…_

Before she can ever finish those thoughts, she decides she’s lucky enough as it is. No sense in upending a perfectly comfortable arrangement. Those boxed up reveries can wait. 

~*~

_“I will lay down my life for yours without hesitation.”_

It isn’t long before her vow is put to the test and Lissa is furious with her over the results. 

“I’m quite alright, darling. Not even a scratch,” she says in an attempt to appease her irritation. 

“You say that as if it’s some kind of-of _guarantee_!” she bites out, hands clenched in her lap.

It’s Lissa who needs mending despite Maribelle having raced back to her side, having already healed one of their less cautious companions. She will give Vaike a piece of her mind after she is done tending to the princess. 

“I can’t believe you would actually do that! No, scratch that! I absolutely believe you would do that and I hate it!” Lissa hisses through her tears as she administers a salve. 

Maribelle inhales sharply at the tone, but remains focused on the task at hand. Neither of them bat an eye anymore when it comes to burns, but this one will leave a mark and she can’t help but experience some regret at the thought. 

_If only I had arrived sooner._

Flailing hooves had pushed back a Risen mage. Her and her mount bought enough time for a steel blade to finish off the fiend, its tome later added to the convoy for future use. She adds the stables to the list of visits she plans to make after her work here is finished. Sumia isn’t the only one who knows how to spoil a valiant steed. 

The physic staff had done some of the work already, but there is still risk of infection if it isn’t properly cared for by a healer. Lissa expresses her frustration. She continues to bandage a shoulder, growing numb to the raw emotion and increasing desperation in her voice. Lissa’s gesturing is proof enough that she’s otherwise physically well, at least. 

She misses a line of inquiry and for a frozen moment their eyes meet. There is a sudden pressure as hands grasp and bunch the fabric of her shoulders, pulling her down. Lissa leans into her without warning and it’s followed by a brief moment of wide-eyed surprise before she surrenders to the kiss. There isn’t a chance to say anything after as Lissa buries her face in her shoulder. She pulls her into a tight embrace and is surely able to hear the thundering of her heart. 

“ _Please._ Don’t do that again,” she says after a time, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “If anything happened to you, I..” She trails off and looks away, hands now clutching at her apron in her lap.

This is a routine she recognizes, so she pulls her close again, offering a handkerchief which Lissa takes, fulfilling her end.

“I cannot promise anything of the sort,” she says with a sniff, head still swimming from earlier making the words she seeks more elusive. “We are getting stronger every day, darling. Soon those Risen won’t know what hit them.” 

Lissa heaves a shaky sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers and before Maribelle can tell her she has nothing to apologize for, Chrom finds them. 

“Lissa!” he says and she stands, swiping at her eyes with the handkerchief. “I heard you were injured.”

He scoops her up into a hug and Maribelle has a moment where she forgets her role as healer. Until Lissa yelps, that is.

“Yo-your Grace,” she manages to splutter, “I have only just finished administering a salve if you would _please_ restrain yourself.”

He gently sets his sister down, aware of Maribelle’s watchful gaze. He might be the Lord of the halidom, but in the healing tents, experts in staves reign supreme. Lissa leans over to look at her and speaks before he can offer an apology.

“I’m not gonna crack _that_ easy, Maribelle,” Lissa grumbles before a smile breaks out across her face and it’s like the sun shining after a day of rain. Chrom and herself are unable to help but smile fondly in return. “I’m fine,” she says, addressing them both this time. She brings a finger to her face and taps her chin. “Though I guess I _did_ miss dessert.” 

Maribelle is quick to offer her service. 

“I would be delighted to make tea for your both. I had some scones set aside earlier though I fear they won’t be as fresh as they had been before those… undesirables appeared. Pray give me a moment to freshen up.” 

She takes her leave of the otherwise empty healing tent, the two siblings offering to close it up for the evening. Her nerves are still on fire from earlier and she’s certain her face must be an embarrassing shade of red. She’s grateful to be on the move, a shiver traveling up her arms as she raises a hand to her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to various individuals for listening to the basic premise months ago. Extra thanks to engineDriver (please check out [A Working Relationship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13883427), if you enjoy reading about the Hoshidan ninja!) and SilverMokona (definitely gotta recommend her Celica/Mae fic [If I Were Able](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276940)) for reading over the beginning! Also thanks to L for all your help.<3 
> 
> I normally do fluff, but this one has some bad feels in it! : <


	2. Chapter 2

The barracks are nearly empty. Everyone is taking advantage of the balmy weather to work outside. Robin has just left the two of them to their own devices and Maribelle’s noticeably brightened since they made their way over. She would never admit it, but the way she gripped her parasol as they walked down the corridor was enough to hint at her apprehension. Lissa had tried to lighten the mood with idle chatter, but Maribelle’s responses had been muted. That’s all fallen away and it’s Lissa who has to muster up the enough cheer despite several sudden realizations.

“Look at me! Classier than ever!” Maribelle says with a smile at her own wordplay, tossing a set of curls over her shoulder. The new sage robes fit her splendidly. She’s as poised as always, but there is something exceptionally striking about her in that moment. “I have always had aspirations to master tomes.”

Lissa sits on a box of supplies against a wall, feet dangling above the floor. She had spent a day last week cleaning the flagstone slabs alongside Donnel who had fumbled in his nervous attempt to talk to her “more properlike”. It’s dirty again from all the foot traffic, which is just one more thing to be dismayed over.

She watches as Maribelle takes delight in her promotion. The robes are dignified and she wears them well. Lissa can’t help but admire her at the same time that she compares herself and comes up lacking. The exercise leaves a sour ache in the pit of her stomach.

Maribelle radiates satisfaction even if she was initially dismayed to learn she would now be on foot. The glowing pride on display gnaws at Lissa as she attempts to conjure up the correct congratulatory phrases, only to once again fall short. Maribelle is the one who is witty and can always think of the right thing to say, at least between the two of them. Heat creeps into her cheeks as she releases a silent sigh.

“It falls within reason that I should learn, especially once you consider my proficiency with staves.”

Maribelle curls the end of a ringlet around her finger and laughs to herself. There is a discomforting sensation in her chest at the sight even though Lissa knows she should be happy for her friend. She is happy for Maribelle. It’s not that she doesn’t want her to be stronger and consequently, safer. She’s reckless enough as it is. If they didn’t watch each other’s backs, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from worrying about the overzealous nature of her support on the battlefield and how Maribelle acts as if she’s invulnerable even when she is—was—only armed with a set of staves. 

And truthfully, it’s about time one of them received a promotion. Nearly everyone else had gone through the process years ago. They had both discussed it in morose tones on more than one occasion. The nature of their roles as healers denied them the kind of experience that would allow for greater gains on the battlefield. It stings even more to see Maribelle up first when Lissa technically had a jump start. Unless it was desert terrain, Maribelle often had an advantage, striking across field and forest to heal even those at a distance. Once again she’s left in the dust. 

She kicks her feet and grips the box as Maribelle turns to her with a smile that is polite and restrained. Not anything like Lissa who laughs and cries too freely. The rough edges of the planks press into her hands as she offers a smile that is maybe a bit too slanted. Even if Lissa were assigned the role, her graceless frame would surely be exposed for all its deficiencies that leather and the crinoline mask. She’s grateful that it’s the standard design, at least. She isn’t sure she could handle it if it looked even more like her sister’s. Before her thoughts can spiral further, Maribelle’s next statement recaptures her attention. 

“Our tactician offered the option to take up the axe, but can you imagine? Fighting with an axe like some brigand?” she says, now running a hand down the intricate gold leaf designs of a tome cover, “No, this suits me much better though I hope to return to horseback someday.”

There is a silence filled by a buzzing in her ears as she watches the light from high windows pierce Maribelle, a shadow cast in her wake. Lissa jolts back after a moment, Maribelle’s expectant expression growing concerned.

“Are you quite alright, darling? You’ve hardly said a word since you’ve arrived.”

Various possible responses flit through her mind as her gaze loses focus. Before Maribelle can approach, she snaps herself out of the haze with a smile and a shake of her head.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired, y’know? I had breakfast shift today…”

Maribelle nods slowly as if trying to convince herself of the truth of Lissa’s claim.

“Perhaps you should retire early then. I can arrange for your dinner to be brought to you—”

“No, that’s ok,” Lissa says, “I’ll eat with everyone and then maybe go to bed.”

Her shoulders curl in on themselves and she plays with the fabric of her apron in her lap. She senses Maribelle’s approach, a hand on her arm drawing her attention upwards.

“Come now, that cannot be all that’s the matter,” Maribelle says, the earlier confident smile transforming into a sharp frown and knit brow somehow makes her feel even worse.

“Really… I’m ok. I’m just tired and cranky,” Lissa says, but she can feel her face contort into something that suggests she’s understated the issue.

Maribelle squeezes her shoulder and extends her other hand to help her up.

“I’m certain you will be asked any day now, darling,” she says and is smiling again. 

She hasn’t quite hit the mark, but she’s close and Lissa supposes it’s all their shared history that allows her to read the situation. 

“Yeah, thanks, Maribelle.”

She takes Maribelle’s hand and it’s strange—but not unpleasant—to touch skin. She’s so used to seeing her with her gloves. There might be other reasons she doesn’t wish to look lesser in Maribelle’s eyes, but what they have is so new that they haven’t quite figured it out yet. She should talk with her, but it in the moment there are so many worries that it’s difficult for her to parse out where one concern ends and another begins. 

“Let’s get you something to eat. You’ll feel right as rain again in the morning,” Maribelle says, her voice almost singsong in the way it dances between them, her steps light in her new boots.

~*~

_“Can you imagine? Fighting with an axe like some brigand?”_

The dress isn’t all that different from her cleric’s uniform. Maybe it’s the colors or the cut that make her feel as though she hasn’t progressed. Robin’s still there, nodding to himself.

“You might want to talk with Frederick or Vaike. I’ve already let them know I was considering promoting you to War Cleric.”

“Frederick or Vaike? Oh yeah… the axe,” she says, hefting the weapon. It’s the most basic of its kind as she’s a complete novice. She’ll at least still be able to use staves. 

There is a part of all this that scares her, actually fighting on the front lines when before she was strictly a healer, but she’s asked to be more useful. She’s wanted to prove herself and show she’s not just Chrom’s little sister and not just the princess who (disappointingly) isn’t anything like the former Exalt. The least she can do is fight. 

She shivers as she smooths over the dress with one hand, the other still awkwardly holding the axe. Metal forms a barrier to blows below the waist, the additional weight something new. She changed in private, but she still is exposed in this room that was bathed in the sun’s warmth just the other day. The light is cool from an overcast morning sky and even the cheery yellow of her new dress is pale in the sallow beams from the high windows.

She thought about asking Chrom to come or even extending the same invitation to Maribelle that she had given to her, but they are both uncomfortable for different reasons. Instead, Robin is there, thinking in terms of the overall army and its needs. It’s nothing personal. Robin couldn’t possibly know.

The wood of the haft doesn’t feel all that different from her staves, and the familiarity sparks a small hope in her as she tightens her grip. This promotion did allow her to skip out of morning chores, Stahl telling her not to worry about dishes as he sent her off with an amicable wave. Maribelle is doing laundry and she could have swung wide in her path to meet with Robin, but nerves kept her on track.

She supposes she could have pushed back, demanded to become a sage or a troubadour or even a Pegasus Knight, but a small, insistent part of her wishes people would see those features reflected in her without her asking. 

She tucks away his advice on mentors for later unpacking and takes her leave, Robin still lost in his thoughts. The least she can do is muster up a smile in thanks.

“I think I’m ready for the front lines!” she says and she’s pleased to hear that she at least sounds like herself. 

Maybe if she says it enough, even she will begin to believe it.

~*~

She doesn’t do much of anything with the axe the first few days besides leaning it up against a box in her quarters. It’s not until she’s left behind in the healing tent, while almost everyone else goes to clear out a horde of Risen, that she gets the proper motivation to ask for help. If she can’t be trusted to join them on a side mission, she knows it’s only a matter of time before she’s truly left behind. 

Who needs a cleric with a wobbly axe throw when Maribelle lights up the field with fire or Sumia can fly to an injured soldier’s aid? In the end, the thought of Vaike who doesn’t care a whit about courtliness or Frederick who finds ways to refine all things starts to appeal. 

Vaike is definitely the more laid back option, so she decides to go to him first, finding him over by one of the practice yards one afternoon.

“So, you’ve come to Teach for a lesson in axes, eh?” he says, arms crossed and covered in a sheen of sweat as they stand under the midday sun. He’s already gotten a workout in and welcomed her request as a cooldown exercise.

She’s having second thoughts about this endeavor. Maybe she can practice alone. Without witnesses. He doesn’t seem to pick up on her indecisiveness and continues talking.

“Axes are one thing your brother ain’t never gonna beat me over!”

This banter is familiar territory, however, and she settles into it with ease. 

“Oh, _really_ , I thought that maybe you lost to him sparring just last week,” she says, crossing her own arms as well. “Though honestly I think the biggest loser was that fence you idiots knocked over.”

“Hey now, no need to be harsh,” he says, eyebrows raised at her tone before he cracks a grin, “That fence put up a good fight!”

They spend more time chatting than they do practicing and she begins to suspect he doesn’t want to actually spar when he has her toss hand axes at practice dummies.

“It’s not like that,” he insists when she airs her concerns, “Everybody’s gotta start somewhere and I’ve been working with axes since you were yea high.”

He motions to somewhere around his knees and she sighs.

“Yeah, sure you have.”

Her next toss misses the target by a considerable amount and she grumbles a few complaints under her breath as she goes to retrieve it. Trotting back she sees him squinting at where the axe had landed.

“Huh, well, maybe we oughta take a break for today.”

“Alright,” she concedes. Her arms are actually getting sore even if it doesn’t feel like she learned much. “Thanks, Vaike.”

“You come back and talk to Teach if you got any questions about axes!”

He might be rough around the edges, but he means well. She thinks about talking with Frederick, but rumors of a thicket of wild mulberries are enough to distract her for the remainder of the afternoon. When she returns for dinner, her hands and old cleric apron are stained. 

~*~

There’s a minor skirmish the next day and Robin decides to bring her along this time. The nerves are different than normal as she remembers she’ll be getting up close and personal with their opponents. Maribelle doesn’t take long to appear at her side, tome in hand with a few others in a fancy yet functional satchel. 

“We’ll do it together,” she says with a sharp nod as everyone gets in formation.

They generally work well on a team, but this time, they stumble. She can tell when Maribelle is attempting to hide her frustration as she’s not particularly good at it. 

“Pay _attention_!” she shouts at Lissa who is doing her best not to miss and failing. The axes that do land don’t seem to be a strong enough deterrent, which means Maribelle is pulling double duty defending and attacking. 

The lancing lights from Maribelle’s tomes hit their marks with great effect. Risen fall to the sound of crackles and booms as the small explosions burst onto the battlefield. As the last monster they are engaged with is defeated, Lissa’s shoulders slump. 

“Well, that’s that,” she mumbles. 

She can feel Maribelle watching and Lissa almost wants to go to Robin to ask for a different partner for the next mission. She has managed to avoid her during breakfast and chores the past few days. Now, however, the painfully familiar blues and greens of the sage uniform hover in her peripheral vision, reminding her of what she isn’t. Who she isn’t.

“Erm… did our tactician make any recommendations on training partners for you?” she asks and the implication is clear as day. 

She’s tired and it takes every last bit of her energy to hide the hurt. When she looks up at Maribelle, she is surprised to see how equally disheveled her appearance is with ash on her hands and her cheek where she must have touched her face to move some stray locks. Her normally impeccable coiffure is limp even if her posture remains straight-backed. 

“Well, yeah. Did he do the same for you?”

She nods, breathing in deeply as she rallies.

“We know what we must do then. The quickest way to internalize new knowledge is to put it into practice,” she says, gesturing with a pointer finger as if she is reciting lines from an elementary primer.

Lissa can’t bring herself to bounce back so quickly even if she is able to smile and respond to her quips as they walk back to camp, but she can go through the motions, deciding to talk with Frederick by the fire that night.

After some cajoling, he agrees to train her the next day. At first, she’s concerned he might be too circumspect in his regimen. She prepares to have to insist in her own abilities and dedication to improvement. The worry is misplaced as she soon finds he’s willing to train her just as hard as he does the regular trainees. 

She still meets up with Vaike in the afternoon and it’s a welcome change of pace as they joke with each other or talk about Chrom. At night, she hits her bed and the world falls away without a second thought. She’s sore, but grateful for the dreamless sleep.

~*~

She’s still not over the last battle or her promotion. Those worries cling tightly and as soon as she’s rested up enough to think clearly, they resurface, threatening to undo any feelings of accomplishment from the past several days. The short conversations she has traded with Maribelle have been awkward. The nature of her doubts make it impossible to bring them up with her, so instead, she’s sought other company. The avoidance isn’t sustainable, however, and one discomfort overrides the other in the end. It’s not something she’s wanted to do, but she decides it might be time to talk to Chrom for guidance. 

Until then, her routine shifts and she takes meals with her new instructors, sometimes sitting with her brother and Robin. The mess hall isn’t the place for the questions she has, however, so she laughs and teases, her smile forced until it’s not anymore. When she’s invited to a strategy meeting, she decides it’s time to follow through with her plan even if it means she needs to sit through an afternoon of meetings to get her brother by himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again to Poro, Smitty and L! Truly! (of course any mistakes or story issues are my own, but I appreciate them reading things over for me!)


	3. Chapter 3

There is something wrong.

Fragments of table conversations from across the mess hall distract her as she manages to mostly avoid eating a porridge of questionable contents, bits of overcooked vegetables intermixed in the slop. She narrows her eyes as she runs through a list of potential suspects put on morning kitchen duty. Laughter chimes in the distance and Lissa is there watching Vaike and Gaius play a game of catch with an overcooked roll.

Their eyes meet for a breathless second before Lissa averts her gaze, Maribelle’s own laughter breathy as she returns to listening to Ricken talk of days when they were younger. He never presses, but her preoccupied pauses are enough for him to tilt his head in question. He’s a considerate young man and she makes certain to express her gratitude, his face coloring in response to the praise. 

Before Lissa dashes off to morning chores, Maribelle calls to her near the tent entrance. Her heart catches in her throat as Lissa flinches at the sound of her voice. The observation stings more than the avoidance of the past few days. Pretending that Lissa had merely been busy working on her new skill set grows more difficult and this additional proof to the contrary weighs on her like the tomes she has begun to carry at her side, another reminder of the gulf between them. She forges onward, tone clear and precise. They have an audience, after all. Slanted gazes and whispered observations hover in the background, but the unwanted attention goes unacknowledged as she watches attentively for Lissa’s reactions instead.

“Would you care to join me for an afternoon stroll to town? We’ve been promised nice weather for the rest of the day.”

Or so Miriel had claimed the morning prior as she tinkered with instruments Maribelle had never seen a mage use before. Supposedly they could aid in forecasting. While she understood conceptually why having a stronger grasp of the natural world would aid in her mastery of its elements, she had a suspicion that yesterday’s exercises fulfilled esoteric research interests rather than honing any battlefield skill set. She smooths out a burgeoning scowl at the thought as Lissa bites her lip before responding with something akin to her usual enthusiasm. 

“Oh, I would really like to, but I have practice. Didn’t you say Miriel and Ricken agreed to teach you?” Lissa chirps sweetly, almost cloyingly so, and there’s a distance there that sets Maribelle’s teeth on edge. 

She steps back a pace.

“Of-of course. You are right. We should prepare ourselves. Perhaps you would like to have tea later? Or meet for dinner?”

She despises how the questions lilt upward so hopefully, and the way her smile wavers at even the thought of dismissal. Poise is something she prides herself in, but the shock of impending rejection is enough to cause years of training to falter.

“Oh, Chrom said I should go to today’s strategy meeting,” she says, her hands tugging nervously at her dress as her eyes flick in the direction of the exit. 

She knows how to read past the smiles, but despite all the signs, Maribelle chooses to believe her. She must. Even if Lissa has a reputation of skipping out early from strategy meetings, surely she must be speaking truthfully to her.

“Ah, yes, perhaps tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, maybe tomorrow,” Lissa says, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, “I’ll see you around!”

“Yes… see you… around.”

She manages a half-hearted wave as Lissa disappears into the sunlight on the other side of the tent flap. Breathing in sharply, she turns to glare at a few bystanders who grow focused on their meals or awkwardly shuffle away. Making a fool of herself in front of others who know just enough makes matters worse. Beyond inviting herself over, however, there hasn’t been much of a chance to say more than a few words to Lissa. She shakes her head disbelievingly as she heads towards a different exit, granting herself distance from the uncomfortable encounter. It would be unseemly to cause any more of a scene, so she marches to her first assignment of the day. As much as she wishes she could avoid having to interact with anyone, it’s not in her nature to evade responsibility. 

She has the dubious honor of working with Miriel in the morning. They are taking stock of supplies and she is to inform the Pegasus Knights and cavalry if they need to replenish anything with a trip into town.

Miriel isn’t one for small talk, not even the perfunctory pleasantries that would be expected in most civilized company. They have had several training sessions, which often result in Maribelle observing Miriel’s personal research as the mage lectures her on abstract suppositions that will do little to assist her in the short term. She’s not in the mood to humor her this morning and begins to think up a series of excuses to be left alone.

The task proves itself unnecessary as they take stock in relative silence, speaking when necessity calls for it. The shift isn’t even half over when she thinks how she almost wishes she had taken up the axe. Vaike is foolish and impulsive, but it would be better than working next to a taciturn partner when ugly thoughts are becoming more difficult to shake.

“Are you in need of assistance?”

Her sheaf of records nearly escape her, some of the pages folding at odd angles as she grabs them before they slide onto the floor. Better to be slightly dog eared than all out of order.

“Whatever do you mean?” she snaps, more irritable than she means to, but Miriel’s impassive expression doesn’t waver.

“Your abnormal behavior this morning has resulted in diminished efficiency compared to how you have completed the same tasks previously. I have also observed an increase in sighing as well as your posture—”

“Ab- _abnormal_?” she says, clutching the records to her chest.

“Precisely,” Miriel says with a curt nod, not missing a beat. “All very curious symptoms and one must wonder if you are suffering from some ailment.”

“I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern. I simply... haven’t been sleeping well,” she says by way of excuse before following up with a sharp look. “You needn’t worry yourself over that either.”

She has no interest in becoming a test subject and there is a tense moment of silence as they evaluate each other. Miriel is the one to break it.

“As long as your data is accurate,” she remarks before turning away.

The mere suggestion that she would present shoddy work at the end of her shift is enough to refocus her efforts the rest of the morning. She takes a hasty midday meal after spending most of the afternoon break reporting instructions for a restock to Cordelia, her tone as formal and remote as the Knight’s.

~*~

Ricken jogs over to her, mage hat flapping in time with his strides as she walks from the supply tent after confirming the delivery of their morning’s work. They set up a place to work under a sprawling oak and he shows her how to read the spell books they use. He’s eager to please and congratulates her when she does well, his words tumbling forward eagerly like a puppy that hasn’t grown into its paws yet. They move from reading to applying their knowledge, both impatient to test what they have learned. 

“It’s really nothing at all. Staves share enough similarities with tomes,” she says as she watches lightning arc at a target, a sharp crack erupts in the air followed by a hissing sizzle. It’s more sedate than the deafening sounds of battle, elegant even as each repetition results in crisper execution.

Her motions are improving, glowing lines growing sharper as she summons the elements. The practice has been good for Ricken as well who has often stayed in camp at the behest of the Exalt. A part of her wants to tell him he’s better off. Even if she hadn’t encountered shambling Risen and battle-hardened Valmese alike, she works in the healing tents and has intimate knowledge of battlefield perils. Noble pride is something she understands, however, and is aware of the potential impact such reassurances could have on the last scion of a declining House. 

When it’s time to pack up and head to dinner, he offers to carry her books, but she demures. She scans the mess hall when they arrive, uncertain whether she hopes to see a flash of yellow and is both relieved and dismayed to find they’ve come at the right time to skirt any awkward interactions. Neither Lissa, nor the Exalt, are in sight. 

~*~

She’s held herself together during the day, but is relieved to have time alone at the end of it. Manuscripts are laid out with thoughtful purpose, the routine nature of the task soothing in its predictability.

_This is as it should be._

It’s not the first time she has sought solace in the pages of books. Self-improvement is a point of pride, but it is also a manner of being above reproach. To speak rightly, to know what is necessary, to comport herself without flaw. She has that, at least.

 _It’s not enough. It’s still lacking._ I’m _still lacking._

The pages blur in the candlelight. She is familiar with this sensation, being left behind. Lissa would never whisper, but perhaps she could tire. Maribelle can wait, hands clasped hopefully, and be avoided time and again without an explanation. This has happened before and she can come to her own conclusions. She is difficult, unyielding even. If she has gone too far with even Lissa, perhaps her loyalty is not worth the price of her company in the end. There is not a single person in camp she wouldn’t feel deeply ashamed to broach the subject with over the contrived excuse of an invitation to tea. Instead, she harries the army’s dancer or snaps at Vaike who she doesn’t trust to train Lissa any more than she would trust Sumia to carry her favorite tea set. Bitterness is recognizable as it pools within her, escaping in dashes of poison that taint her daily interactions. 

Lissa is too soft-hearted to turn her down outright. The thought causes something to twist painfully in her chest. She breathes in deeply and ignores the shuddering exhale that follows. 

Maribelle trusts her with everything. Surely this isn’t about what she said about the axes. She will explain in the morning over breakfast. She brings a hand to wipe her eye. She’s just tired. That’s all.

Breakfast would most likely be with Ricken again. Miriel is overly efficient and doesn’t care to engage in social niceties. Her instruction is so far into the realm of theory and Maribelle has enough to memorize as it is. Ricken, while not the best teacher, at least seems to understand the need for applied knowledge.

Her own pride prevents her from asking their tactician, who she partially blames for this mess. If he had put proper thought into his decisions, things would surely be different.

The worst part of it is that she had allowed herself to think she had a chance. The pain stabs clean through and she’s foolish enough to be willing to be pierced again because she still trusts and wants and hopes in ways that don’t allow her to let go so quickly. If it had been anyone else, it would be different. She can cut ties as brutally quick and clean as a myrmidon’s blade. 

_It’s all ended up wrong somehow._

Familiar lines of text blur in the fading light while the wax of her candle melts and puddles in its holder. The material is dense, but it’s no excuse for her lack of progress. Normally, if she were so distraught she would quit for the evening, recognizing the fruitlessness of forcing herself to study. Sleep has brought little reprieve, however, and she worries over a repeat of the previous nights of restless slumber. 

Had it all gone wrong that day in the healing tent? Or was it the afternoon in the barracks? They had met other times after the former, closer somehow and she had never pushed or questioned, afraid to break the spell. The promotion that occurred soon after had signaled a brighter future. Everything had felt easy for once, like it was meant to be and she was so certain Lissa would join her in a newly tailored uniform. The fighting was awful, but they were in it together. 

But then the illusion shattered. It had all been so fragile and she doesn’t understand how to nurture it and can’t quite figure out how to put the pieces back together. She turns a page in the growing dark, the flickering candlelight the only illumination. 

~*~

She wakes up determined. After a night of nursing her wounds, it’s time to speak frankly, princess or not. Dearest companion… or not. As she leaves her tent, it’s apparent camp is already on the move. The surrounding activity catches her off guard as she blinks mutely nearly colliding with Gaius as she turns abruptly.

“Late to rise, eh, Twinkles?” Gaius asks with a cheeky grin, sucker stick hanging out the side of his mouth giving off the impression of delinquent schoolboy rather than battle-trained assassin. Before she can respond with a quip of her own, he continues on his way. “I’d love to chat, but we’re all headed out! You were listed in the roll call, too.” 

It’s an inauspicious start to the day as she gathers her things and rushes to the designated meeting point. No one comments on her late arrival, but heads turn as she makes her way to Lissa, still resolute in her quest to make amends. She offers a stiff greeting, still recovering from her brisk pace, before jumping directly to the point.

“My apologies, Lissa. I didn’t intend to disparage you,” she says as she walks alongside her.

She’s embarrassed to admit to herself that her hands are sweating and she no longer wears gloves that could disguise the fact, so for more reason than one, she refrains from reaching out. Lissa’s eyes widen in response and there is no trace of anger there, but perhaps some guilt, the hints of which offer her no comfort.

“It’s… it’s ok. Once we wrap this up, we should talk though.”

It’s what she wanted, isn’t it? But cowardice blooms in the confines of her chest, snatching for cover, a shield, anything.

“As you wish.”

She bows as low as would appropriate for a princess, turning her attention away as marching orders are called from the front lines, deftly avoiding having to witness a reaction. The message ripples out through their small force. In the distance, she sees Ricken on his mount, eyes wide on a drawn face as he takes in the assembled might. He’s finally been asked to enter the fray after their tactician began to notice the strides made when he observed one of their practice sessions. 

Lissa’s presence at her side burns brightly even in the darkened expanse of a hilly gulch. Storm clouds gather on the horizon and there’s a heavy stillness in the air as she attempts to muster up the proper energy to do battle, alone in an army of companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Lissa has a heart to-heart with Chrom... and a chat with Sully.


End file.
